


Close Call

by BeatrixBlack



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Bi-Curiosity, But pretty saucey, Drunken Kissing, First Kiss, Homophobic Language, M/M, Not too saucey, Others but I have never posted on here before, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5685481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeatrixBlack/pseuds/BeatrixBlack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I knew how I was supposed to feel. Hands holding my wrist tight enough to leave bruises. Hot, angry breath in my face. But for some reason fear wasn't what was running through my mind or coursing through my veins, or pooling in my lower abdomen with a familiar heat. Spot was close. Really close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I knew how I was supposed to feel. Hands holding my wrist tight enough to leave bruises. Hot, angry breath in my face. Blue eyes locked into mine; with such wild anger and rage they didn’t even seem human.

I was supposed to feel fucking scared. Terrified of losing my lousy life at the hands of an angry 16-year-old who’d seen enough brawls to make a professional boxer raise an eyebrow. A certain important 16-year-old, who currently had a gold-tipped cane attached to his hip. A cane that I knew had seen some head bashing.

But for some reason fear wasn’t what was running through my mind or coursing through my veins, or pooling in my lower abdomen with a familiar heat. Spot was close. _Really_ close. So close I could see little freckles on his nose and count the eyelashes framing the orbs looking into mine.

Looking _directly_ into mine. Like holy hell, his face is close enough for me to lean in. I’m an idiot. It’s that kind of stupid thinking that got me into this mess.

It started as it does for everyone I assume. Or not everyone, I guess just queers. As a kid I didn’t think anything of it but I liked hanging out with other boys. Like I _liked_ it. The rough housing, the friendly hugs, the sweat after playing a game of baseball… But once puberty hit, it quickly turned from nothing to a fuck ton of shame.

I didn’t realize what I was feeling was any different from my compadres until I would hear stories of them and some dame getting it on. I thought I was a late bloomer, that maybe my wanting to get with girls would come too. But waking up in the middle of the night with a sticky sensation between my thighs and the dream of rough hands on my neck, arms and/or ass still so clear I could taste it convinced me otherwise.

I realized the “late blooming” was me not wanting soft lips and smooth legs and hips and, dare I say it, _breasts_.

I understandably had to make up a few stories of my own conquests to not make myself look suspicious.

“Oh yeah, last night I met with this real looker. She’s a good height and was wearing a… brown dress and _lordy_ she was not afraid of, uh, moving her body around on mine.” I understand this is not exactly a very detailed or good or even appealing story but the nuns at Catholic school did use to tell me that I wasn’t a very creative liar. But the other newsies left me alone and I was left alone with my private, sexy boy thoughts.

Then I met Spot fucking Colon. I hate to admit it but I saw him and I was a Goddamn goner. He smirked at me and spit in his glorious hand, pushing it forward. You bet your ass I spit in my and gave him what he was asking for.

“Nice to meet you, Racetrack,” _Unmguh_. My name in those plump, begging-to-be-kissed lips was hot as a summer night in a bunkroom with 49 boys. I mean that in both ways you could take it.

Of course as you can imagine as I got to know Spot the initial fair-tale-quality-like-charm about him wore off. He’s basically the worst but the bad boy thing is kind of my weak spot. Ha spot… never mind.

As the years went by I had a couple close calls of my desire almost taking over and I nearly smashing my face in his and finally feeling the things I’d been imaging. There was the time we were sitting alone at the dock during sundown and Spot’s hair was shinning and his biceps gleaming with a mixture of sweat and bay water. Then of course the time Spot complimented me on _my_ hair. And by compliment I mean a very classic;

“Hey’a Race that mess you call hair isn’t looking too freakish today. You got a hot date or something?” he smirked. I held onto those words for days.

And of course the time that cannot go by without acknowledging, the time Spot was drunk off his ass and touching me.

“You'se got a funny mouth,” he said, leaning on me and pointing to my mouth.

“Yeah, lets get you home buddy,” I said practically carrying his weight on my right side with his left arm swung over my shoulder.

He leaned in closer to my ear, “Anyone ever tell you, you always look like you’re pouting?” I shivered involuntarily as his lips ghosted the shell of my ear.

“Nope.” I said, my voice already fucking hoarse, trying my best to lean away from him, which proved to be impossible with carrying him.

He leaned in even closer, lips having full contact with my ear, “But you dooooo,” Spot whined. Mother fuck, it hurt because he spoke at full volume directly into my ear but Mother fucking fuck it was the sweetest thing I’ve ever felt. The sound I made after that must have sounded very strange and very embarrassing but he’s definitely forgotten that night. The rest of the walk home was consistent of him hobbling on my side and me very awkwardly leaning to my left trying to get as far away as possible from his heat. Well get away form his heat and the heat that was filling my body that he caused. Couldn’t get away from that though.

This time he just pushed me too far. I mean _come on_ a man can only take so much. Or rather, a hormonal 18-year-old boy can only take so very very little. And I’ve done a great job. I really deserve a medal on how long I’ve been taking it and just burying it inside me, only for it to resurface in my sleep or in the shower…

Spots raise of power made it, if possible, even more inappropriate to have the feelings I was having for him. I don’t want to admit I moved from Brooklyn to Manhattan because of a crush but I definitely moved from Brooklyn to Manhattan because of a crush. Manhattan is nicer anyway, the boys are hip, nobody is waking up with rat droppings on their bunk, life is good. I still get to see Spot and my pals from Brooklyn often enough.

Like nights like tonight when we all meet up at Medda’s theater for basically a newsies hoedown. Everybody’s drinking, hell I am drinking enough to make me feel courageous enough to sit next to Spot and laugh and joke and even, yes even touch him. In a non-homosexual-I-want-to-touch-you kind of way. Spot was different that night though. He drank enough to move from the liquid courage stage to the laughing, then yelling, to finally the quite and dark stage he gets at.

His eyes never seemed to be unfocused though. His dark gaze and scowl was staring me right back in the face whenever I looked at him. I don’t remember ever seeing Spot this drunk. He usually keeps himself in check on account of him needing to watch over his boys or his poker cards or his business deal laying out in front of him. Whatever the reason all the other Brooklyn boys and I had never seen him so drunk.

It was really late and most everyone had gone, even Spot’s boys. His second and third in command on his okay obviously but it was still unusual. I stayed for no real reason other than Spot is the hottest God damn thing on this earth and with that little extra boost the alcohol gave me I had the courage to not runaway from him. And I care about his safety of course.

Walking out of the theater the cold air hit me and immediately sobered me up. Holy shit, I was alone with a very drunk Spot and now I needed to carry him home and the last time that happened he made me take cold showers for weeks.

“Spot you better just stay the night in the lodging house on Duane, it’s too late to walk back to Brooklyn.” I said trying to seem as un-hopeful as possible.

“I’m fine I can walk just fine. And I don’t want to sleep with you pansy’s anyway,” Spot said staring at me with deep blue eyes. Lol, little does he know.

“Well us, _pansy’s_ , live six blocks that way so why don’t you give it a rest and just be with us for one night,” I said placing my right hand on his shoulder in what I hopped was an encouraging way. Spot lazily turned his head down to look at my hand. I pulled away self-consciously.

“And besides,” I continued, focusing on keeping my voice its normal pitch, “tomorrow morning I’m going to Brooklyn anyway and you can just walk with me.”

Spot took a step towards me so we were only about six inches apart. He slowly raised his arm like he was going in for a side hug and I couldn’t breath as he drew it closer to me. He draped his arm over my shoulder, silently agreeing to stay in the Manhattan lodging house tonight.

I chuckled, and started dragging his skinny body down the street. My right hand found its way across his side and as I held on I could feel his bottom rib. I could feel the heat of his arm around my shoulders and the heat my hand was giving off on his side, only a thin white shirt between us. Spot’s head turned to me in that same lazy fashion. I focused my eyes ahead, not wanting our faces to be so close but at the same time wanting it so bad. He leaned in towards my ears. _Not fucking again._

“Hey Race,” he breathed. Even more heat hitting my body and starting to blossom in my stomach.

“What Spot,” I said, annoyed. Annoyed he is making me go through this with him again.

“You’ve got such long eyelashes,” his nose bumped my ear and the cold of it made me jump.

“Yeah,” I said just focusing on the road ahead of me.

“Raaace,” _Fuck_. His breathy tone and sexy half lidded eyes went straight to my dick.

“ _What_ Spot,” I said looking at him through the corner of my eye. His opposite hand came to stroke the side of my face. As his fingers moved down my eye lids fluttered shut and my mouth feel open a little bit in surprise. It felt _good_ to have him touch me.

I quickly grabbed his wrist harshly, “What the _fuck_ are you doing?” I said through clenched teeth. Did he know where we were? In the middle of the fucking street! If anyone saw us they’d kick our asses or worse, call the cops.

“Just trying to get you to notice me,” Spot said stopping his little to no effort in walking forward and effectively stopping the both of us. He removed his arm from over my shoulder, which gave me conflicting feelings but within seconds both his hands where on either of my shoulders and he was looking me straight in the eyes.

“Do you notice me?” he seemed to be somewhere else and I was reminded again how drunk he must be.

Looking around anxiously for possible bystanders I said, “Yes you’re holding me down and I was just walking your sorry ass home, of course I notice you.”

“Yeah but, do you _notice_ me?” before I realized it I was walking backwards and I was up against a brick wall, actually trapped between Spot’s arms. He took a step towards me so our bodies were inches apart. And he was looking at my lips.

I think after you’ve imagined something, as much as I have imagined Spot kissing me, once it’s actually reality it’s hard to remember what is real life. That’s why when Spot leaned in I, as if I’ve been doing this for years, leaned right back into him. But as my eyes closed I didn’t feel anything on my lips. Instead I felt hot breath on my neck. Opening my eyes I saw the side of Spot’s head, and his mouth directed to my neck. My knees buckled and my breath started to pick up. _Is this happening?_

“Spot- ugh,” I tried to ask what he was doing. I tried to ask what the hell he thought he was doing but the words got caught in my throat when his lips came in contact with my neck. And then a tongue came in contact with my neck. Spot very clearly knew what he was doing. He flicked his tongue and glided the tip of it up my neck and stopping on the shell of my ear, then licking around it and making sure to breathe right where I would feel the hot vibrations.

“You like that?” I inhaled sharply at his deeper, rougher, sexier voice. Did I like that? That’s like asking a poor kid if he likes free food. Yes I fucking liked it! Right before I could squeak out some embarrassing attempt at sounding cool and asking him what the fuck he was doing Spot pulled us into an alley that by some gift of God was right next to us.

I managed to find my feet right before he pushed me up against the wall in the alley. Grabbing his arms I said, “What are you doing? What are _we_ doing?” He just looked at me and continued to push me up against the wall, not roughly which was how I had imagined it would go. No he very gently just lowered his lips back to the same side of my neck but this time his lips moved to the side instead of up, towards my lips. He kissed my jaw then moved to my chin then the other side of my jaw, a slight disappointed whine escaped my mouth, and then moved down to the other side of my neck.

Then he bite down, _hard_. I gasped wildly and my hands flew from his arms to knot in his hair. That felt really good. Spot looked up at me with a smirk and looking super sexy with his lips slightly swollen. He bite down again, this time a little higher and my hips jerked and my jaw dropped in a silent moan. Making a small moan of his own, Spot bite me again on my earlobe and then autopilot took over.

I flipped us around and slammed Spot against the wall, putting my mouth harshly on his and kissing him like I desperately needed. Maybe I did. My hands in his hair started pulling and tugging making a deep groan erupt out of Spot and Spot’s hands moved to my back, pulling me closer. Our bodies were pressed up against each other and a groan of my own presented itself. My hands left his hair and started to roam around him, touching anything and everything above the waist, I didn’t want to freak him out. Feeling his chest, teasing his lower abdomen by moving my thumbs just above his waistband.

Holy fucking shit. This was a Goddamn dream. Spot seemed to attack my mouth back almost immediately and to feel that urgency in him made my member stand to attention even more.

What came next I couldn’t help, I needed to readjust myself because it was in an awkward angle but once my hand was down there I just needed to feel pressure. I was more turned on then I can ever remember.

Spot noticed my hand and it’s position and he broke away from the kiss.

Terror.

This is it, this is where Spot realizes what he’s doing and who he’s doing it with. But he didn’t immediately punch me in the face, he instead put his hand on top of mine. No dick touching action but the added pressure and heat and knowledge that Spot’s hand was very close to penis made my hips jerk forward hard and collide with Spots. In hindsight that was probably a very funny sight to see, two boys trying to grind against each other but too afraid of the gay to be without their own hands serving as a barrier. Spot grabbed my hand that was currently attached to my member and moved both mine and his away, then rubbed himself up and down me very hard and very sexy like.

“Oh God Spot,” I moaned, leaning my head against his shoulder and then pushing it so I could kiss his glorious neck. That seemed to encourage Spot, he grinded harder and faster as I marked his neck with probably a dozen hickeys.

The noises Spot was making only encouraged the attack on his neck. I bit down a little with high hopes of a similar reaction to my earlier one. And at first I wasn’t disappointed. Spot’s hand flew to my shoulders and squeezed and his head arched back so the crown of it was against the wall. But his hips stopped. I kissed his neck for a few more seconds, hoping he would start moving again but eventually I stopped as well.

Oh Jesus Lord, there we stood, frozen. Him looking up into the starless New York sky and me with my face awkwardly hovering over his shoulder.

Spot slowly looked down at me, “Race?” he said. It was a question.

I slowly looked back up at him, “Yeah Spot,” I said. It was an answer.

Spot’s eyes narrowed and his head tilted to the side. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck me_ fuck. His arms at my shoulders pushed back violently and sent me flying to the other side of the ally.

“Race!” This time it was not a question or an answer but rather a proclamation of frustration and plain fear.

I stayed where I was up against the opposite side of the ally. There was no way in sweet hell I was going to win this fight. My only hope was to stand completely still against this wall and hope to teenage Jesus running away from home to hangout with the rabbi’s Spot didn’t notice me.

Spot did notice me, extremely easily being that he threw me against the wall in the first place. And I knew he definitely noticed me by feeling a fist connect with my jaw. My head snapped to the side and I spit out blood.

“What the _fuck_ was that?” he snarled. Spot’s voice was deep and scratchy, from either the sex or from anger I couldn’t tell.

“Listen Spot-“ I was interrupted by another fist making contact with my face. Okay so he wasn’t looking for an answer. Good fuck I was going to have one hell of a shiner tomorrow. And Spot was going to have a lot of hickey’s. What are we going to tell the other guys.

He wasn’t finished. He kneed me in the gut while I was still reeling from the last punch. I bent over in pain and a loud groan escaped me. Spot grabbed my wrists and slammed them above me head against the wall behind me.

We were chest to chest, eyes to… well mouth kind of. But I could still so easily feel his heat and for some fucked up reason my body had not completely calmed down.

“Listen Spot.” I continued much slower and more cautiously. Not only for Spot’s sake but also because I was trying to keep my voice even and not too obviously horny and therefore queer. Spot’s stance was still defensive but at least he stayed still. “Look, I know that was… weird.” _I’m fucking it up_. “But um, we don’t need to tell anyone,” I added lamely.

Spot had not moved. I couldn’t even really tell if he was breathing.

“And this won’t happen again,” I added in hopes of not getting my ass beat off but with other hopes that Spot would proclaim he wanted it to happen again and then jump into my arms and we’d ride off into the sunset.

Spot looked around and released my hands. The ally was standard, disgusting with trash and evidence of rats. And by the look on Spot’s face I could tell he felt similar disgust with himself as I did with the ally.

He brought his eyes back to mine; “Just… Let’s just go to the Manhattan lodging house,” he said, defeated. And with that he turned around and started walking towards home. He steps were drunkenly staggered and his shoulders where still held high.

Taking a deep breath I felt the feeling of Spot’s lips on my own and the shame of what the nuns would possibly think of me and the blaring hope that maybe Spot wouldn’t remember anything the next morning. I followed him out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi guys this is my first story on here in a very, very long time. Please rate and review and expect more Race and Spot and possibly other things.

Thanks! BB


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning I awoke to Spot’s foot in my face and Blink’s movement above me as he jumped off our bunk.

“Oh, hey-ya Spot,” Blink said with heavy morning voice. He turned and walked towards the bathroom. At his name Spot’s eyes began moving underneath his eyelids. After only a moment his eyes opened and he was awake.

For about two seconds I felt relief wash over me as powerful as the cold East River on an extremely hot August day, Spot didn’t remember a thing. Then all the sudden Spot’s gentle breath froze and his eyes flashed to mine and then away again and then back to mine and then widened and then he rolled out of bed and calmly walked to the bathroom, making a nonchalant comment at Jack’s bed-head on the way.

I stopped breathing.

I’m dead.

I’m _actually_ going to die, I thought.

I made out with the leader of the Brooklyn newsies. Well technically _he_ made out with _me_ but I’m sure he’s not going to be considering the technicalities when he’s planning how to violently rip me apart and then cook me and then somehow find my long lost- prostitute mother and then make her eat me.

I’m really going to die. Spot will kill me. He has to. If some of the other newsies found out what we did no one would listen to Spot anymore, no one would be afraid of him or respect him. He’d loose everything. And it’s not like he needed a real reason to kill me. ‘Hey Spot why did you kill Race?’ ‘Oh he was annoying me.’ And that would be the end of that. No one would dare raise a question against him.

As I lay there in my bunk and my heartbeat sped so fast I’m surprised it didn’t wake the newsies still sleeping I thought what I should do. Is there anything I can do? Runway probably would be the only solution.

Wait, why do I need to run away? What did I do wrong? After all it was _Spot_ who started it. I didn’t make him kiss me. Yeah, I knew it didn’t matter. I was a dead man walking.

I didn’t really have anywhere to runway too. If I ran away I would starve while hitch hiking or freeze to death somewhere in the West. At least here my death won’t be so prolonged.

Yep, it’s time to get up and face the music. I slowly rolled out of my bunk and walked the short distance to the bathroom where the rest of the boys where getting ready for the day.

“Morning Race!” Mush called cheerily from his position shaving in front of the mirror. I noticed Spot right away, he was hunched over a basin washing his face. At Mush’s signal Spot’s eyes shot up to mine;

“There’s the sleeping beauty,” his eyes were unreadable. In fact it was the best poker face I’d ever seen. So it looks like he wasn’t going to publicly shame me for being a fag, or not now at least. No, more likely I’d wake up tomorrow morning surrounded by all the Brooklyn boys holding goblets, ready to drink my blood.

The rest of the morning we didn’t speak to each other. Though at the paper distribution Jack had to ask;

“So you heading back to Brooklyn this morning Spot?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna sell near Sheepshead ta’day,” he said looking right at me, eyes as blank as ever. I looked away, and thought about asking him if we could stop by the Catholic Church before hand so I could repent.

We walked through the gates side-by-side without a word. We approached the bridge and began the mile walk over to Brooklyn. We got halfway through without a word to each other. We were almost to the end when, near the second large archway, blocked by view from the people walking towards Manhattan and oddly enough no one else around.

“Look Spot,-“ he shoved me against the pillar with a hard hand at my throat, sufficiently cutting off my air supply.

He spoke in an eerie calm and in a slow pace; “You don’t say a fucking word. You here me, _Race_?”

I honestly probably would have said something witty and therefore stupid if I were able to breath. Spot was pressing hard enough the circulation was being cut off at a rapid pace and once Spot let go I was purple in the face and fell to my knees gasping for breath, Spot turned and kept walking. _A threat_ , I thought.

So I figured that’s how we were going to do it then. Spot wasn’t going to talk to me and then push me into a vat of boiling acid. Or he was taking me to a secluded place to tell me how disgusting and revolting I am as he slowly pushed spikes under my fingernails. My imagination wouldn’t quit supplying awful images of how Spot was going to kill me.

We walked all the way to fucking _Sheepshead_ before Spot spoke to me again. We passed my usual selling place, Spot obliviously had other plans today than making sure Racetrack had enough to pay for a bed tonight. Well for me there probably wouldn’t be a _tonight_.

He glanced around quickly and stealthy. As if he wanted to make sure none of his spy’s or maybe even other burrows spy’s were watching. He probably didn’t want to give them any incentive that we were associated together. Spot led us to the stables. No one was back there; the morning race would be starting in an hour or so, all the horses and caretakers already gearing up for the rigged race. Spot brought us into one of the stalls. I thought he might make it look like one of the horses stomped me to death.

Once we were in there a good three minutes passed of just staring at each other. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t a pretty sight. I had stress sweat through my entire shirt and I couldn’t look him in the eyes for longer than a beat or two. What the _fuck_ was he waiting for? If he was going to kill me he better get the shit on with it.

From the few scared glances I took, Spot looked kind of… _sad_. If one could describe Spot as sad. Probably because we were friends before the queerity and he felt a little bad about having to kill his friend. That is assuming Spot can _feel_. Jury’s still out.

Spot reached into his pocket and I fucking flinched very obviously. He was probably reaching to get a small pistol or poison or a knife he would want me to cut my own dick off with. But Spot pulled out… _coins_. Did he want me to swallow them until I was so heavy I couldn’t move and someone would have to cut me open and I would die from loss of blood and an infection because they used a rusty knife?

When Spot reached his arm out and opened his palm it dawned on me that he was _offering_ me these coins. I very stupidly voiced my concern, “… You… you want me to eat them or something?”

Spot hadn’t quite met my eyes since entering the stable but at the last comment his eyes shot up to mine and his brow furrowed just the slightest bit, “… What?”

“Th-the coins. Do you want me to like choke myself with them or-or like push them into my eyes?-“

His face scrunched into disgust; “What? What the- fuck no, ew what the? No, Race this is for your rent tonight.”

I felt genuinely confused at this. So I guess Spot’s angle was to kill me slowly. Maybe each day do his slave work and each day I’ll loose another limb by him until I’m nothing more than a head.

“Uh…” I grabbed the coins from his hand, “So you’re not going to kill me today?”

“Race,” he said, sounding very frustrated. His hands shot up to his forehead and began vigorously massaging his eyes and temples, “Racetrack, why would I be giving you money if I was going to kill you.”

“You- you want it to be a long death-“

“No, Race-Race I-.” He took a deep breath, “I’m not going to kill you.”

I felt confused at this too. He was going to try and make me feel safe so I would be surprised before I died I guess. I could respect that to some degree.

“Racetrack… I think things should go on like they were.”

Should I just play along with his plan at making me feel safe or should I fight it or should I play dumb?

“How we were?” I of course chose the option closest to home, the dumb one; “like before last night-“

At the mention of last night Spot’s eyes screwed close. _God shit_. How have I lived while being this much of an idiot?

“I mean-“ I said taking a step towards Spot, probably in what was another bad idea.

“No!” He said putting his hands out. You bet your fat ass I stopped in my tracks; “I mean, not like how we were before- before. I mean like we _were_ … last night.”

What.

“What?”

Spot pushed a hard breath through his nostrils. I hate to make my murderer more annoyed than necessary but what the hell was he saying to me? Does he want us to have another fist fight?

“R-“ he started again but then seemed to think better of it. He clamped his mouth shut then started at me with a determined look. I must of looked pretty dumb (what’s new) with my eyes wide and one brow cocked. Spot gave one sharp nod, to whatever inner monologue was happening in his head then strut two long strides closing the gap in between us. His hands curled around my sweat stained shirt and he pulled me into a passionate kiss.

I’ll admit I’ve been confused this whole time but this has to top the cake for the most confused I’ve been in my entire life. Spot’s lips were chapped and his cupid’s bow was pooled in either nervous or normal sweat, who was I to judge what kind of sweat the man drips. And despite my millions of question and ever-present confusion I couldn’t deny how amazing it fucking felt to have his lips on mine.

Even though I claimed to be pretty right-minded last night I realize I wasn’t nearly sober enough to feel how _awesome_ it really feels to be kissing someone you’ve wanted for so long.

So even though I was scared of loosing my life not four minutes ago, I grabbed at the back of Spot’s head and began kissing him like a well-paid prostitute.

Spot tilted his head to deepen the kiss and I gladly accepted his tongue into my mouth. He battle dominance for a moment or two but I’m no kidder and let him win pretty quickly. His hands moved to my upper back and pulled me closer, earning him a pretty embarrassing ‘ha’ from me. His hands lowered to the dip in my back and with his lowering hands my arousal raised. I was in it now baby. My hands tangled into his hair and experimentally tugged. Spot responded with a quick nip on my lip.

“ _Shit_ ,” I moaned. And even though I really, really liked this. I pulled away. Spot’s eyes were dark and sexy and I really, really liked it. But we had things to talk about, a lot of things.

“Let’s go back to my place,” he said turning his head. He led the way, and I followed.


	3. Chapter 3

Stepping into the dark wooden frame of the Brooklyn boy’s newsie lodging house, Racetrack noticed the dampness first. It hit his throat like a fog and the thick cloud from cigarette’s hanging out of boy’s mouths didn’t help clear his head. His mind was racing a hundred miles a minute. 

What’s going on, who am I, and how did I get here; he thought noticing rat droppings on the floor. Racetrack just couldn’t believe Spot was okay with this. No, not only okay with this, Spot was into this. Like into it into it. Like he wanted to do the making out and maybe more. Maybe more, Race drooled. 

Just an hour ago Race was about to piss his pants in fear. There was just no way it could have ended well for him. He kissed basically one of the most feared gang leaders of the amateur world. Race had never heard of anything like that happening. Well he had heard of some things like it but those were more like boasting about soaking faggots. 

Faggot. Race was familiar enough with that word and was one hundred percent on being one but to think of Spot Colon, the most feared newsie of all time was one, a faggot was an impossible thought. 

As Racetrack walked up the rickety stairs and past the main bunk rooms to Spot’s private bedroom Racetrack started allowing himself to think Spot could possibly even want him. 

The Brooklyn boys kept their heads low as he and Spot passed. They knew better than stare at their superior. Race knew how it went. 

Once through the narrow doorway they entered Spot’s private room. It had a single twin bed that obviously was picked out of a dumpster behind a hospital, but the dark sheets helped cozy it up. Next to his bed was a small bedside table and an oil lamp, above it was the only picture pinned on any of Spot’s walls; the group photo from the paper he and the newsies were on. On the opposite wall there was a window looking out into an ally and another building and in front of that was Spot’s desk. 

Spot walked into the room first and after letting Race in closed the door behind him. Racetrack walked into the center of the room before turning to look at Spot. The two stared at each other for a few moments. Spot spoke first. 

“So, um-“

“I think you’re beautiful,” as soon as the words left Racetrack’s mouth his face was inflamed in an embarrassed shade of red. Why the fuck would he say that? What the fuck is wrong with him? 

Spot’s eyes bulged for the tiniest fraction of a second before calmly closing. His hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “God, Race why are you making this so hard?” 

Race was still frozen in sheer and utter panic. Suddenly he understood why he never made money at the racetrack, he was the dumbest person alive. 

In a terrible attempt to save himself, Race blurted; “I just mean I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.” 

Spot’s eyes snapped open at that and his exasperated expression told Race that was also the wrong fucking thing to say. 

Racetrack was so mortified and worried he was ruining everything he took a frantic step towards him. Spot visibly tensed but otherwise didn’t take a step back. Spot looked like he had just told his mom and grandma and entire church community he was gay and they told him they are gay for him back. He was obviously embarrassed and bewildered and starting to get frustrated. 

“Not like since forever!” Racetrack paused while Spot continued to stare unbelievably at him, “I’ve just thought that for like five… years.” By the end of Race’s sentence his voice had raised an octave and his face had darkened to rich red velvet shade. 

Spot’s hands flew in the space between them and in a small area he waved his hands in front of his chest as if to say, stop now please. Spot took a slow step towards Race with his right foot and then glanced away in a moment of uncertainty before lunging into Racetrack and slamming his mouth against his. 

Race was frankly taken aback. He did flinch when Spot first came for him because he was expecting a good backhanding to the face at that point. 

But once Spot’s lips touched Races’ time stopped and sped up, all at once. Spot’s warm lips massaged into Racetrack, slowly getting him to open up and then slipping his tongue into Race’s mouth. 

Racetrack had no control of the tiny groan that left his mouth. His hands rose uncertainly and landed on Spot’s shoulders, close to his neck. He slowly moved his hands up until they were tangled at the base of Spot’s hair. Spot’s hands pulled Race in from his waist, and then once chest-to-chest rested, hugging Race close. 

Spot deepened the kiss and Race’s knees started getting weak, Spot was really getting in there. Racetrack could feel Spot’s tongue mapping the inside of Race’s mouth. His tongue was teasing Racetrack’s by flickering across his quickly, the slowly. With closed eyes Race’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. This felt fucking good. Spot is amazing at this. Not that Race had anyone to compare him too. Yep, not only was this Race’s first time being intimate with a man, it was also his first time being intimate. And it was more than he could have dreamed for. Spot’s kisses were warm and wet but also daring and sexy. It gave Race an unfamiliar sting of jealously thinking about Spot kissing another person. But he must have. 

Spot’s hands slowly lowered from their position at Race’s waist and Race’s heart sped up like a racehorse on crack. Spot slid his hands into the back pockets of Racetrack’s trousers and squeezed. 

“Oh fuck Spot,” Race said in a voice almost unrecognizable to him. It was high and scratchy like he’d been yelling. Spot leaned back with his jaw slightly ajar in reaction to Race’s moan. Spot closed his mouth and caught his bottom lip between his teeth and chewed it whilst he studied Racetrack. 

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” he said with a smirk. Race would’ve been offended if he wasn’t too distracted by Spot playing with his lip. 

“Yeah,” he replied dumbly. He couldn’t think of an intelligent reply, he could hardly think about anything except Spot’s hand gently massaging his ass. 

“… How do I compare to others?” Race’s eyes slowly rose from Spot’s mouth up to those baby blues. Spot was giving him an out, a chance to lie. His eyes were filled with knowing, Racetrack saw. Knowing that Race hadn’t been with anyone else before and yet he was allowing Race to get away with it. That made his heart lurch. 

“Um it doesn’t. I uh… don’t have other uh kisses to compare to.” It sounded so lame even to his own ears. 

“Do you want to hear a secret?” Spot said looking down at Racetrack with an arched brow. Race nodded. “I must say this is a first for me too.”

A tiny half smile cracked on Race’s face like eggs on Saturday. “You ain’t spendin your alone time fooling around with fellas?” 

“I don’t know why I haven’t been,” Spot said quietly as he lowered his mouth to Racetrack’s. This kiss was just as passionate as the last and Race’s hands flew from Spot’s neck to flat on his chest. Race’s hands felt down to Spot’s sides and ran this thumbs across his torso. This was the hottest thing Racetrack’s ever done and the intensity of his arousal was powerful. Race couldn’t help the little moans he made every time Spot’s hands squeezed from inside his back pockets. 

Spot lead Race to the edge of his bed and backed him up until he was sitting on it. Then Spot fucking climbed on his lap. Race’s eyes flew open to meet Spot’s calm cool and collected ones. Spot threw his hands on Racetrack’s shoulders and then started kissing him again. 

Race’s mind started sputtering. He could not believe the king of Brooklyn was on him while they were making out. Spot’s mouth dropped from Race’s and onto his neck, kissing and teasing with his tongue. Spot moved up to the base of his ear and flicked his tongue around Racetrack’s earlobe. Spot teased it for a while before placing his teeth around it and gently biting down. 

“Ugh, Spot,” Race said a little louder than he intended. He felt Spot grin around his earlobe. Spot bit down again, this time not as gentle. 

“F-fuck,” Race moaned, again too loudly. 

“You better keep it down,” Spot said, still grinning. Before Racetrack could answer Spot bit his lip for a third time. Really Race couldn’t help what he said next. 

“Fuck me,” Race breathed. 

Spot stopped, just for a moment. He took a shaky breath in and then lowered the few inches between his hips and Race’s and then started grinding down on Race. 

“Ohmygod,” Race cried as Spot grinded down on him. Now this feels amazing. The friction was incredible, it felt like relief and burning suspense at the same time. Race couldn’t handle it.

Or he thought he couldn’t until Spot said, “God Race you feel so good.” And that was the hottest thing Race’s ever heard. Race didn’t know what he was doing but he lifted his hips and starting grinding back onto Spot. Race groaned and Spot gasped quietly.

It just felt so good and perfect and everything was perfect so Racetrack lowered his hands to Spot’s belt and-

Spot was up and out of bed. Leaving Race with his legs spread wide and dick bursting through his pants. Spot was not looking much better, his shirt was all messy and his boner, god his boner, was clear as day. And as noticeable as the sun if you know what I mean. 

There was a beat of silence before Race opened his stupid trap to fill it with an intelligible, “Uhh..”

“I just-“ Spot quickly tried to explain, “I was just thinking that we needed to… talk.” If Race didn’t know better he’d say Spot looked a little scared. 

“Talk?” Race said, unused to this gain in power. 

“Yeah punk, fucking talk,” Spot said, annoyed. His eyes seemed a little wider than usual but other than that Spot seemed completely calm. His hands were in his pockets as he stood casually in the middle of the room. 

Racetrack still looked disheveled as shit. 

“Are you… going to be sleeping with other guys?” To this question Race sat up. He was surprised to think about how he never really thought about it before. He’s always liked Spot, like always. And the logistics of being together never crossed his mind. Would Spot want to be exclusive? Or worse, would Spot want to keep fucking other people? 

“Guys? You don’t care if I sleep with the girls?” Though this was a joke, Racetrack’s tone was not joking at all. 

“I don’t think I need to stop you from sleeping with girls.” Spot said with a familiar smirk, glad to have the power back again. 

“What do you mean?” Race said in a very New York Italian kind of way. But genuinely angry. 

“Well for one you think I’m pretty,” Race flushed at the embarrassing memory, “And also I can smell the queer on you a mile away.” 

“What?” Race said, standing at the accusation. 

“Come on Race,” Spot said looking down at Race’s still present boner. Oh. 

Racetrack asked courageously, “Well then is the same going to be said for you?” 

Luckily Spot smiled, “I think we got a deal, pretty boy,” Spot said placing an arm on either side of Race and leaning into his ear. Spot then looked up at the clock on the wall across the bed. “Shit, I got a meeting at two. Can you find your way out?” 

Racetrack felt disappointment bloom in his chest, “Yeah, yeah.” Spot turned to leave as Race said, “Oh and thanks… for the lodging money for tonight.” 

Spot just smiled with his back against the door. He considered Race for a few more moments before opening the door and leaving Race alone in his room.


	4. Chapter 4

The next two weeks passed and Race didn’t see Spot once. He would be worried Spot was ignoring him if Racetrack didn’t know Spot was a more important person. 

So, for his weird post-kiss but Spotless life, Race continued on as normal. He woke up to Blink falling out of bed, he sold papers in Brooklyn, and he kicked everyone’s ass at poker. But things were not the same. 

Every time Racetrack closed his eyes he saw Spot’s swollen lips. It made Race so horny. His dreams were filled with the sounds of spot breathing and the feeling of Spot’s hands in his back pockets. And these memories were great. Almost as great as the knowledge that Spot was into him. 

The guys started to notice. 

“Hey Race, what are you smiling at?” Skittery said, in line for the morning addition. 

“Nothing,” he muttered while pretending to read the headlines. 

“Come on,” Skittery said, bumping shoulders with Racetrack. “Someone special?” he supplied. 

Race could immediately feel his cheeks getting red. He saw Skittery’s sly grin. 

Jack, who was apparently ease dropping said, “Race’s got a girl!” 

“Ah Race!” Mush said, turning to him with a toothy smile. “We didn’t know you had it in you!” 

At this point, Race’s face was red, but he couldn’t help the eventual break into a smile. At this all the boys had a reaction. Some whooped, some hollered, some clapped him on the back. And Racetrack felt something for the first time. He felt like he was one of the boys. Of course there was a knot in his stomach reminding him to be guilty but Race almost was feeling like a regular newsie. 

But he also felt bad. He knew that if any of them found out it was a guy and not only that but Spot, well, they’d loose their minds. And Race would get soaked. And word would get to Spot. And Race would maybe be killed. 

So, the two weeks went by mostly blissful, and uneventful. And it was a Saturday when Race saw him again. 

It was maybe eleven in the morning and the sun was beating down hard on Sheepshed. Racetrack was about to take his lunch, he’d been up since six and had to get back out there before the business men were looking for a paper to read during their lunch. He was about to step off the street corner and go find some food when Racetrack spotted Spot. He looked as good as ever. Shirt, unbuttoned a few unnecessary buttons, trousers bunched at the knee, gold cane swinging with his step. Race immediately felt his heart rate speed up. Spot was clearly coming for him and Race couldn’t stop his eyes from scanning nearby rooftops and ally nooks for watching eyes. 

Race stepped into the shadows and Spot and him made eye contact. Spot’s eyes flicked back towards the stables, in what was a definite implication to follow him there. Racetrack’s heart if possible sped up pace as he followed Spot. 

In the stable, Race found a shadowed Spot, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette. “Want one?” he asked. Race accepted the offered cigarette and placed it in his mouth. Racetrack’s eyes trailed up to Spot’s. Spot’s eyes were confident, and his lips were smirked with his cigarette dangling out of his mouth. Before Race could ask for a light Spot’s hand raised to the back of his neck. Racetrack’s mouth opened a little in excitement before remembering he had a cigarette in his mouth. Spot leaned in, grabbing his cigarette with this other hand and using that to light Race’s. Racetrack melted into the feeling of Spot holding him close. The two locked eyes and Race saw the passion in Spot’s eyes as the light increased with his in breath. 

“Thank you,” Racetrack said with a rough voice. Spot let his hand fall and the two straightened up to smoke. 

After a few moments of silence Race found the courage to ask; “How have you been?”

Spot smirked and said, “Great, doll,” with a wink. So, Race thought, he’s not going to talk to me about what’s been up. He was not very surprised. It’s not like Spot would find Racetrack more important than his role as King. 

Race didn’t know what to say to that so he just watched Spot’s mouth around his cigarette. Spot basically gave him a show. He was hollowing his cheeks when he sucked in and half-lidding his eyes when he breathed out. 

Watching Spot made heat start to spread through Race’s body. He couldn’t help it. This was only the fourth or fifth time he had been alone with Spot and all the previous times had ended in at least some kissing. 

After finishing his cigarette, Spot dropped the bud and immediately stepped on it. Spot got off the wall and walked the few paces to Racetrack saying; “I hope you’ve been well.” 

He had, but he didn’t want to give Spot that satisfaction. “Same as always,” he said. Racetrack finished his cigarette and followed Spot’s example of crushing it with his foot. 

“You didn’t miss me at all?” Spot asked, leaning one hand near Race’s head leaning against the wall. 

Racetrack had missed the fuck out of Spot. But he liked seeing Spot get all worked up on the idea Race had a normal two weeks. 

“I guess I did,” he said leaning in a little, “But not much more than normal.”

Spot smirked at this and said, “Oh yeah? You didn’t miss this at all?” And with that Spot leaned down to kiss Race on the jaw. Racetrack’s eyes instantly fluttered closed as the pleasure rippled from where Spot kissed him. The reminder of what it felt like to have another person’s lips on his skin felt amazing. 

Race would do anything to edge Spot on so he said; “Well, the guys always keep me company.” But Racetrack’s voice was breathy and slightly whiny as Spot’s lips continued its attack on his neck and jaw. 

Spot’s lips moved up Race’s neck and to the shell of his ear. Spot’s tongue licked the shell of his ear and Race breathed an Oh at the warmth. 

Spot chuckled a bit in Race’s ear, “Really? Do the other guys do this?” Spot said and then slowly bit his teeth down on Race’s earlobe. 

“Oh fuck Spot,” Race said. His sounds were borderline prostitute at this point but Racetrack was caring less and less. 

“Yeah? Do you like that?” Spot asked, his ears still pressed up against Race’s ear. Racetrack nodded his head because his breath was so erratic he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to talk. Spot’s hands quickly grabbed the sides of Race’s face and pulled him into a passionate kiss. Spot’s lips were moving faster than Racetrack expected but he was eager to keep up. Race found Spot’s lip between his teeth and started gently chewing on it experimentally. 

“Goddamn,” Spot said, his voice was light and airy and it made Race’s dick strain and ache. Wanting to tease Spot more, Racetrack continued his torture on Spot’s lip. He ran the tip of his tongue across it to then follow with his teeth taking small bites. He could hear Spot’s breath speed up. With each nibble on Spot’s lips he would let out a tiny sigh. 

Spot’s hands floated down to Racetrack’s waistband and he felt like he could feel Spot’s growing arousal by the intensity in the random squeezes on his sides. Power and pleasure fueled Race to keep going and he get was getting more turned on than he ever had before. This was the first time Racetrack was getting any kind of upper hand in their meetings and it was going straight to his head, and his other, littler head.

With one final, rough squeeze Spot’s hands released from Race’s sides and then they kind of hesitated. Almost as if Spot wasn’t sure which side of Race to go to next. This realization made Racetrack stop kissing Spot’s mouth. The idea of those hands back in his back pockets was exciting as hell and it made his knees feel weak. But on the other hand, if Spot wanted to move to the front of Race he definitely wasn’t going to stop him. 

Racetrack was ready to take it to the next step. Or any step that Spot will allow him basically. But a curious and extraordinary thought crept into Race’s mind. Maybe Spot wasn’t as ready as Race. Maybe spot was… nervous to do those things. Racetrack felt like there was no way on earth Spot hadn’t had sex, despite what he said two weeks earlier, but maybe he’s nervous because Race is a guy? That could be the only explanation. That worried Race. Maybe Spot wasn’t… really into guys. Racetrack did have a hard time believing that though, by the way Spot and his body were reacting to Race’s touches. 

Racetrack decided to cock one eye open and see what has happening with Spot’s indecisiveness. What Race saw was a surprise to him. He saw Spot’s eyes closed shut. His brows were furrowed together and he looked very confused. For a while Spot’s hands continued to float on Racetrack’s sides, then he clearly made a decision. 

And Race felt it. He felt Spot’s slightly shaky and very warm hand be placed directly on one thigh. Spot’s hands slowly dragged to the center of Racetrack’s body and Race almost screamed. 

“Jesus, oh God Spot.” He felt Spot release a shaky breath as he felt his hand press firmly on his dick through his pants. Race couldn’t help the slight inches his hips moved to meet Spot’s hand. He was eighteen for Christ’s sake! Not only that but he’d been dreaming of this particular hand to do the rubbing for years. Racetrack felt like his underwear was probably a mess of pre-cum but he didn’t care. His skin was on fire. 

Race could barley keep his eyes open long enough to look at Spot but he did. Spot looked fucking hot as he rubbed Racetrack through his trousers. His pupils were giant, making his eyes look dark and sexy. His mouth seemed to keep slowly moving, opening and closing and sometimes biting his lip. 

After a few moments Race could maintain himself for a few seconds and decided to look Spot straight in the face and make him squirm even more. 

“Oh fuck,” Racetrack breathed to Spot. He saw Spot’s breath hitch. “Yeah, don’t stop baby.” At this, Spot groaned. 

“Oh,” Race continued, “God, Spot. Fuck you’re so hot.” 

This makes Spot gasp and kind of too quickly caught himself leaning into Racetrack. His hand paused and Race felt the loss immediately. His hips involuntarily twitched to get Spot’s hand moving again. 

But Spot took a step back. Race’s face got a little hot at the idea of what he must look like to Spot. If it’s anything like Spot’s appearance he’ll be sweaty, and tussled, and hard as hell. Spot appeared to be trying to catch his breath. 

“Jesus, Race,” He finally spoke. “I’ve never-“ But he seemed to quickly think better of himself. 

“I can’t-“ He tried to correct himself before stopping again. “I just can’t think when you’re…” He trailed off. 

What was he going to say? When Race is moaning like that? Or kissing Spot? Or teasing him? What? Racetrack never got to know, at that moment a small checker-capped-head pops into the stall door. 

“Hey boss?” He piped. Race immediately turned to face the wall, hands going to the back of his neck. He was still hard and definitely did not want this kid to see that. 

“Two seconds,” Spot said to the boy and flicked his wrist towards the door. The head disappeared and there was silence for a beat. 

What the hell? Thought Race. That was a newsie. That means a newsie knew they were here, together in a stale for half an hour. And what’s even worse, Spot told him to be there. 

Racetrack knew he looked bewildered. And Spot being the guy he is kept a straight face as his eyes bore back into Race’s. Daring him to say something. 

Racetrack did not know what to say as he turned around. So he said; “So, we telling our friends now?” 

Spot crossed his arms, “He doesn’t know anything.” He turned to leave. “And no, we are not telling our friends now.” And with that Spot left, leaving a hard and lonely Race.


End file.
